


what a lovely way to burn

by Singofsolace



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Domestic Violence, Eventual Smut, F/F, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Sharing a Bed, Strangers to Lovers, and they were quarantinemates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23933455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singofsolace/pseuds/Singofsolace
Summary: When a pandemic sweeps through Greendale, Zelda Spellman answers the call for more doctors, despite having retired from midwifery nearly sixteen years ago. She joins the hospital staff against the wishes of her husband, hellfire preacher Faustus Blackwood. When a covid-positive pregnant woman must be given an emergency c-section, Zelda works together with the celebrated surgeon, Marie LaFleur, to save the lives of the mother and babies. Having been exposed to the virus due to faulty personal protective equipment, however, both Zelda and Marie are then forced to quarantine together at a nearby hotel for fourteen days. Can these two survive two weeks of quarantining with a complete stranger?
Relationships: Marie LaFleur (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)/Zelda Spellman
Comments: 24
Kudos: 60
Collections: And They Were Quarantinemates





	what a lovely way to burn

**Author's Note:**

> A few housekeeping things: This is a non-magical, modern AU. Constance Blackwood left/divorced Faustus before she realized that she was pregnant. So, the timeline of Zelda marrying Faustus is a little different from canon; at the start of the fic, the twins aren't born yet. Also, many things in this fic would probably never happen in real life, which is why it was so fun to write. I mean, who doesn't love a good quarantine, "there's only one bed," fic?
> 
> The title comes from Peggy Lee's song, "Fever." This is a very trope-y fic; please let me know what you think!
> 
> Content Warning: implied domestic violence; minor (canon) character death

Zelda Spellman had lived through more than her share of hardships. As a result, she wasn’t afraid of anything—least of all a virus—though she had to admit, the sheer number of cases and deaths in New York were starting to chip away at her resolve. She couldn’t stand to watch another news cycle in which the governor of New York practically _begged_ for more doctors and nurses—even retired ones—to help the hospitals handle the overwhelming influx of sick patients.

“Turn that damned thing off,” said Faustus, coming to stand behind Zelda as the news report continued. “Every day it’s the same story. There’s no point in watching it.”

Zelda bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something she’d regret. “We need to stay informed—”

“You’re a _housewife_ , Zelda,” said Faustus as he stood in front of her, blocking her view of the news. He reached out to caress her cheek with the back of his hand. It took everything Zelda had not to flinch away. “As long as you stay inside with me, you’ll be safe. That’s all you need to know.”

With that, Faustus took the remote from her hand and shut off the television, cutting off the governor’s plea for more ventilators.

“About that—”

“Yes?” said Faustus as he leaned over her chair, caging her in with his hands on each arm rest.

“I think I should go back to work,” said Zelda in a rush. “I might not have an MD, but my midwifery license is still valid—”

“No,” growled Faustus, fingering one of her curls. “I need you here. I don’t want you stepping one foot out of that door during this crisis. Understood?”

“But Faustus,” said Zelda, knocking his hand away before pushing at his chest to let her stand. He moved back enough for her to get out of the chair, but grabbed her by the triceps before she could get much farther. “People are _dying_. I can help the hospital staff. Maybe not with everything, but at the very least, I can work in the maternity ward.”

“What part of ‘I need you here’ and ‘you’re not to go outside’ aren’t you understanding?” Faustus said, tightening his grip on her arms. “You’re stuck with me, like it or not.”

“You have your work at the church. Why can’t I do mine?” Zelda challenged, wrenching herself free of his hold.

“Let other people be the heroes. It’s not your responsibility. You’ll get sick and die, and for what?” said Faustus, following her as she turned on her heel and went into their bedroom.

“Tomorrow morning, I’m volunteering at Greendale General Hospital,” said Zelda, opening their closet to look for her medical bag. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Suddenly, Zelda yelped in pain as Faustus grabbed her by the hair. He pulled her forcefully away from the closet and threw her face-first down onto the bed, ripping out a few strands of red hair as he did.

“You forget yourself, Zelda,” said Faustus, pinning her arms behind her back as she struggled to get away. “If I say you aren’t going to the hospital, I expect you to listen. Are you forgetting your vows? ‘To love, honor, and _obey_.’”

Zelda began to disassociate. Her spirit floated up to the ceiling, where she looked down upon her body for the remainder of the night, more determined than ever to slip out the door the moment Faustus left for work.

* * *

Marie LaFleur had been closely monitoring the situation in New York for weeks now, concerned by the rapidly rising number of cases and deaths. She knew New Orleans wouldn’t be far behind, but something inside her was insisting that she travel up the coast and offer her services as a general surgeon. It felt as though her met-tet was whispering to her every day, insisting that it was her fate to travel to New York and help them weather the storm.

Nevertheless, the flight to New York was marked by an eerie sense of dread. The airport was practically vacant, as was the plane. Everyone was wearing makeshift face coverings, which reassured Marie that at least the airlines were taking the pandemic seriously. Marie herself had fashioned a face covering out of a headscarf, since personal protective equipment had been scarce for weeks now, even in places hit less severely than New York.

She was assigned to Greendale General Hospital, where she could be put to use as an emergency surgeon. On hour eleven of what should have been a twelve-hour shift, a pregnant woman came in, complaining of breathing problems and a high fever. Not long after she was admitted, her oxygen levels dropped so significantly that she needed to be sedated and put on a ventilator.

“We need to perform an emergency C-section, _maintenant!_ ” said Marie to the nurses who had helped her intubate the patient. “This baby is not going to last long if the mother loses more breath.”

“You can’t just perform a surgery without the mother’s consent! You know nothing of this woman’s medical history, let alone her wishes with regard to the birth—” said a woman to her right, with long red curls tied up into a bun and what looked like a dainty handkerchief tied around her face. Marie wanted to know who had let this woman into the unit without proper P.P.E., but then again, her own mask wasn’t an n-95, but rather a thin, functionally useless surgical mask.

“May I remind you, _chérie_ , she could not _breathe_ , let alone speak, when she arrived. If she ever comes off the ventilator—and that is not certain to happen—l think she would rather have a living baby than a dead one. I am making the call,” said Marie, turning to address the rest of the nurses. “Prepare for surgery, _tanpri_. Inform the NICU I am going to have a very premature newborn in my arms in about ten minutes!”

“I don’t mean to question your authority,” said the red-haired woman, helping Marie take off her gloves. “It’s just that I’m a licensed midwife, and Constance is only 26 weeks pregnant. Those babies aren’t ready yet to leave their mother.”

“You _know_ this woman?” said Marie as she stepped into what was essentially a surgical jumpsuit and then rushed to the sink to wash her hands.

“She used to be married to my husband,” said the woman, refusing to meet Marie’s eyes as she donned her own gown. “It’s a long story. He doesn’t know about her condition, or that I’ve been helping her through her pregnancy. She was insistent that the babies be born naturally—for _religious_ reasons.”

“What is your name, _chérie_?” asked Marie, eyeing her companion with curiosity.

“Zelda. Zelda Spellman—I mean… Blackwood,” said Zelda, tying her gown behind her neck.

“Well, Zelda, are you ready to help me deliver these babies? I must admit, I perform more bullet removals, appendectomies, and bowel surgeries than births, but it is a good time to try something new, eh?”

Zelda looked at her with wide eyes. “You’re not an obstetrician?!”

“ _Non, mais_... I know how to create an incision to get a baby out, _absolument_ ,” said Mary as a nurse handed her a scalpel.

“ _Two_ babies. They’re twins. And I really don’t think removing an appendix qualifies you—”

“In case you have not noticed, _chérie_ , the hospital is a bit short-staffed at the moment,” said Marie, waving her hands to indicate the chaos of the emergency department. “And you are one to talk! You are not qualified to perform a C-section with just a midwife certification, _ma_ _chérie_.”

“But I _am_ qualified to deliver a child,” retorted Zelda, before promptly shutting up as Marie made the first cut. Leaning down to whisper encouragements in the unconscious mother’s ear, she said, “Your babies are going to be just fine, Constance. I promise I’ll take good care of them.”

* * *

The babies were successfully removed from their mother and immediately rushed to the NICU. Not long after, Constance Blackwood bled to death from a terrible hemorrhage. This left the babies motherless, with no father noted on the live birth certificate, though Marie suspected Zelda knew a thing or two about who had sired the babes. Zelda insisted on caring for the babies herself, refusing to allow any other nurse or medical professional near them. Marie found this strange, but had very little time to ponder it, as she was rushed to handle yet another emergency forthwith.

It wasn’t until two days after the unlikely team delivered the babies that Marie began to run an extremely high fever. She was immediately ordered by the powers-that-be to quarantine for two weeks—on the hospital’s dime—in a nearby hotel. When she arrived, she was shocked to see Zelda already at the hotel counter, heckling the poor man at the computer who was practically wearing a hazmat suit to keep himself safe from guests with the virus.

“What do you mean, we aren’t permitted private rooms? This is a pandemic, and I'm not even a real employee! The hospital can’t require me to _share a room_ ,” Zelda’s voice was thick and heavy with sickness behind her scarf.

“According to my records, you were both infected by the same person, and thus have the same strain of the virus. The hotel is at capacity with all of the healthcare workers that have fallen ill in just the last week. There are no other rooms. I’m sorry.”

Marie walked to the counter, though she was sure to give Zelda and the man enough space. “ _Excusez-moi_? Am I hearing correctly? We are being forced to quarantine together? _Ç’est horrible_ , _ça.”_

“I refuse. I’ll just go home and infect my husband. God knows he deserves it,” said Zelda, turning on her heel, before she was met by a security guard blocking her exit.

“I’m afraid we can’t let you do that, ma’am,” said the guard. “The hospital is requiring you to stay here to minimize community spread.”

“I can’t believe this,” said Zelda, throwing up her hands. “This is a human rights violation!”

“I agree,” said Marie, “but I suppose we cannot do anything but make the best of it, _chérie_.”

Zelda looked ready to take her chances with the security guard, and get herself arrested in the process, so Marie threw caution to the wind and placed a hand on her arm. The woman immediately flinched away, which made Marie frown. Her touch had been as gentle as it could've been.

“ _Allons-y_. By the sound of it, we do not have a choice,” said Marie quietly from behind her face covering. Zelda’s eyes were wide and green and unable to entirely hide her fear. What the woman was specifically afraid of, Marie could only guess.

“Oh alright. But if you snore, you're sleeping in the bathtub,” said Zelda, marching back to the desk and grabbing her room key.

* * *

“No. _No!”_ said Zelda, opening the door to reveal that the room had only one bed. “I’m _not_ sharing a bed with you!”

Marie felt her stomach twist. While Zelda was completely within her rights to react the way she did, her protests were seeming more and more like personal attacks. “I am not happy about it either, _ma chérie_. But I am too tired to complain. I need to lie down— _maintenant_.”

Zelda immediately changed her tune at the thought of Marie being seriously ill. “Are you sure you’re alright? You don’t need the hospital? I can take you there. I still feel fine, if a bit feverish.”

“I am not going back there unless I stop breathing,” groaned Marie as she slipped out of her clothes. Zelda’s face was suddenly much redder than she remembered, but she blamed it on the virus. “And even then, I am not sure I want to spend my last days on a ventilator.”

“I wouldn’t want that either,” admitted Zelda, unable to help the way her gaze roved over Marie’s now bare body. “I can’t get Constance’s death out of my head.”

“It was not our fault, _chérie_ ,” said Marie as she peeled back the comforter and slipped beneath the sheets. “We did the best we could.”

Zelda hummed in agreement, but she was staring at Marie with a scandalized expression.

“What?” said Marie, looking around the room, as if to discover what had put that look on her companion’s face.

“You’re… you’re not going to put on… night clothes?” said Zelda, tearing her gaze away to look pointedly at the skirt and blouse that had been carelessly discarded on the floor.

“I usually sleep in the nude,” said Marie, loving the way Zelda’s eyes went wide. “But for your sake, I figured I would keep my underwear on, eh?”

“How… chivalrous,” said Zelda, clearly shocked. “Well, I suppose you won’t mind if I use the bathroom first, then?”

Marie was already half asleep. “Not at all, _ma chérie.”_

* * *

Marie woke up when a sharp elbow jabbed her in the arm. She opened her bleary eyes to see Zelda’s face much too close, and her body even closer.

Zelda was wearing a long robe with a nightgown beneath it, which Marie found odd, since she herself was nearly too hot to stay under the covers. Why would someone sleep in a robe? Surely, it wasn’t for modesty’s sake…?

Zelda made a noise in her sleep, somewhere between a whimper and a grunt, before sharply turning away from Marie, taking the blanket with her. Her companion was apparently the kind to hog blankets… which was unfortunate, as Marie was suddenly overcome with a chill.

Since she was thoroughly awake after such a long nap, she decided to get up and take a shower. Not wanting to wake her companion up, she slipped out of the bed as carefully as she could, and made her way to the bathroom.

* * *

_“Have you learned your lesson?” said Faustus, between lashes. “Obedience has never been one of your finer qualities, but I have hope for you yet.”_

_Zelda’s body shuddered as the whip came down again. Twenty-seven. Only three more._

_“None of this is sinking in, is it?” said Faustus as he paused, trailing the edge of the whip down her spine. “I’m going to have to find new ways to get through to you.”_

_“Faustus!” Zelda cried as the whip came down again, harder and lower than before._

* * *

Marie was still drying her hair when she heard a sharp cry coming from the bedroom. Forgetting that she was only in a towel, she threw open the bathroom door to see Zelda tangled in the sheets, thrashing around like a woman possessed.

“Zelda!” said Marie, running to the bed and attempting to soothe her. “Zelda, wake up!”

But the woman made no sign of being able to hear her. Marie put her hand to Zelda’s forehead, but hissed the moment that her palm met skin. Zelda was on fire.

“Zelda, you are fine. You just have a fever. I need you to calm down,” said Marie, in what she hoped was a soothing voice that hid how scared she truly was. “Please wake up, _chérie.”_

Zelda’s body was slick with sweat. Thinking she ought to cool her down, Marie pulled on the sleeves of Zelda’s robe, trying to get it off of her. It was slow-going, but as the thrashing continued, Marie eventually managed to slip the woman’s arms out.

“No,” Zelda moaned, though Marie could barely distinguish the word from the rest of the pained sounds the woman was making.

Suddenly, the woman shivered as if she were cold, though Marie knew chills was just another symptom. Marie debated putting the robe back over her shoulders, but she stopped as she took in the skin that the robe had been hiding.

Zelda’s arms and shoulders were covered in bruises that looked an awful lot like finger marks. There were also mouth-shaped bruises sucked into the skin of Zelda’s chest and neck which looked awfully painful... and fresh.

Feeling like she had unintentionally violated Zelda’s privacy, Marie hurried to put the robe back on, but reeled back when Zelda suddenly lurched to the side, off of the bed. She hit the ground with a pained groan, holding her head where it had knocked into the nightstand on the way down.

“Zelda? Are you alright?!” said Marie, bending down to help her up. The woman looked so much smaller and more delicate in just her silk nightie.

“What—what’s going on?!” Zelda shrieked, her sleepy eyes widening as she gazed up at Marie wearing only a towel.

“You were having a nightmare, _chérie_ ,” said Marie, shifting her weight from foot to foot after Zelda slapped her helping hands away.

“Stop hovering over me,” said Zelda scathingly. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t need help getting back into bed.”

“You hit your head pretty hard,” said Marie, watching as Zelda struggled to stand, “and you have a fever. We might need to go back to the hospital after all.”

“I’m not going back until I can see my godchildren,” said Zelda, finally lifting herself up and standing toe-to-toe with Marie. Her eyes were drawn rather noticeably to Marie’s chest. “ _Why_ are you…?”

Marie smirked. “Do you like what you see?”

Even in the dark, Marie could see Zelda’s pale skin blush red.

“Yes—I mean, no! No, and I demand to know why you’re practically naked—” Zelda looked down at her own body, suddenly realizing she wasn’t wearing her robe. “And why _I’m_ … oh never mind.”

Zelda huffed in exhaustion as she snatched the robe from the bed and slipped it back on as fast as she could, covering up her pale lace sleepwear.

Marie raised an eyebrow, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to tease her companion, but also wanting to distract Zelda from the issue of the robe. “I am certain I was wearing less than this when I was in my underwear earlier.”

“Who takes a shower in the middle of the night?!” said Zelda, but the acidity of her tone was softened by the fact that she was swaying slightly.

“Let’s get you back into bed before you hit the ground again.” Marie reached out to help her, but Zelda flinched away from her hands.

“Don’t talk to me like a child.”

“I was not trying to, chérie,” mused Marie as Zelda lifted the blankets and got back into bed. “Are you sure you are fine?”

“I’m _perfectly_ fine,” said Zelda, though the shiver that followed negated her words. “Just put on some clothes and go back to sleep.”

Marie did as she was told, deciding she better put on an actual nightgown or else risk being strangled in her sleep. When Marie slipped back into the bed, now appropriately dressed in a long t-shirt that could certainly pass as a nightgown, she could tell that Zelda was still awake by the irregularity of her breathing.

“You cannot sleep?” said Marie, turning towards Zelda’s body, with one arm under her pillow.

“If you must know, I have terrible insomnia.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Stop talking.”

Marie grunted in response to that, turning away. If Zelda didn't want to talk, they wouldn't talk. But Marie didn't expect sleep to come for her, either... not with the image of Zelda's pale skin marked with bruises so fresh in her mind. But how could she get Zelda to trust her enough to talk about such things...? They'd only just met, after all.

It was going to be a long two weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: While it seems a bit silly to credit Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa as the owner of these characters, considering he himself stole/borrowed/recreated them, let's give it a go.
> 
> I do not own these characters. They belong to Archie Comics, which sent Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa himself a cease and desist for his blatant fanfic-turned-play, "Archie's Weird Fantasy," not too long ago. Please do not sue me; I am an unemployed adjunct professor writing fanfiction purely for entertainment purposes. I have very little money, but a whole lot of love for complicated female characters. While I do not wish to be sued, I would very much enjoy being given a position as show-runner for writing some great fanfic. I eagerly await your email.


End file.
